In Which Klaine goes to a Ren Faire
by Jenetica
Summary: ... and Kurt Gets Muddy. Blaine whisks Kurt away to Ohio's Renaissance Festival for a day of fun. Kurt is not pleased. Rated M for a reason, lovelies!


**A/N: Hey! So this is the first fic I've posted under this account (my other account is years old and grammatically horrifying) and I'm a bit nervous to set it free, but I just love it too much to keep in a digitally dusty folder on my laptop. That said, this is un-beta'ed so there might be some typos. If you're interested in beta-ing or just want to correct something, shoot me a review or PM me. Thanks! Enjoy! ~ Jenetica**

* * *

><p>"I have a surprise for you," Blaine told Kurt, smiling excitedly. He placed their coffee orders on the table, sliding the nonfat mocha toward his boyfriend as he sat down. Kurt accepted his drink and gulped down as much caffeine as he could without burning his mouth.<p>

Blaine had called him at seven this morning, an ungodly hour for a Saturday, and told him to come to Common Grounds, the coffee shop in Westerville, and to wear comfortable shoes. _Why_ Kurt had to drive two hours to have coffee, he didn't know, but Blaine had insisted earnestly. And handling an earnest Blaine, Kurt knew, required him to be both wide-awake and alert.

With one last slurp (the cup was almost half-empty now), he greeted his boyfriend. "Good morning to you, too, Blaine. I'm fine, thanks, despite being woken up at the ass-crack of dawn by my lunatic boyfriend. How are you?" He smirked sarcastically, tilting his head as if serious. Blaine's grin wilted, no doubt realizing that perhaps his method wasn't the smartest. His eyes rounded, unintentionally turning into the puppy-dog eyes that Kurt couldn't resist.

"I didn't—I mean—sorry," Blaine apologized, fingering his java jacket self-consciously. "I just, the tickets—"

"It's okay," Kurt sighed. He could never stay angry with the boy. Not with the puppy-dog eyes in his arsenal. "Thank you for the coffee," he continued, lifting the corners of his mouth in what he hoped was a comforting smile. His face didn't like happy emotions. Not this early (on a _Saturday_).

"You're welcome," Blaine responded rapidfire, lighting up once more. "And I am sorry. Mom doesn't let me sleep past six unless I ask her to sleep in. It builds character, or something. I tend to forget that most of my peers sleep in. I'm digressing! I have a surprise."

Shit. Kurt was in for one hell of a day if Blaine was this wound up. "Okay," he said condescendingly. "Surprises are good…. What is it?" If Blaine noticed the snark, he didn't mention it.

"I have tickets to…" Blaine let his words hang, building suspense. Kurt was surprised to find it working. Or maybe that was the caffeine. "The Ohio Renaissance Festival! Aren't you excited?"

"… A renaissance festival?" Kurt deadpanned. "As in creeps in tights and nerds pretending to be knights?"

"No, silly!" laughed Blaine. "You're thinking of TV show festivals. The real thing is so much better! There are nerds and creeps, yes, but there are tons of fun shows and cool games. Oh, and hundreds of shops with all kinds of period stuff. Shopping," he finished importantly, knowing the effect it would have on the taller boy.

Kurt sipped his coffee, giving himself time to think. He hadn't gone shopping in a few weeks, he reasoned, and he might see something he liked. And it would make Blaine very happy. "Alright," he relented, "let's go to the renaissance festival."

"Yes!" Blaine jumped up, finishing his drink. "Let's head out now! The festival starts at ten, but it's about an hour and a half from here. And," he grinned, "you'll want to see the first round of shows."

Kurt finished his coffee and the boys headed out. "We'll drive to my place first," Blaine said, "so we can drop your car off. And I have ponchos."

"But why would we nee—"

"See you there!" And the curly-haired teen was pulling out of his parking spot, waving at Kurt, and driving away.

Kurt swore loudly. He followed Blaine home, mentally revving himself up for the day. He'd need more coffee. But not before he roundly scolded his boyfriend for deserting him like that.

The words died on his tongue. Blaine was on the stoop, clutching ponchos and bouncing on his toes. He freaking _emanated_ "kid in the candy store." The anger just leaked out of Kurt at the sight; he couldn't ruin Blaine's mood, especially not now.

Senior year had started about two weeks ago, forcing the boys to separate. They'd spent the entire summer together, swimming and doing nothing and just being _them_. It was Kurt's favorite summer yet. When August had rolled around, they went school shopping together—well, technically, Kurt went shopping and Blaine followed, seeing as he didn't need to shop for his school clothes—and ate pumpkin ice cream as they watched the last of the fireflies blink lazily.

When school _did_ start, both boys were so busy with their respective glee clubs and homework that they didn't speak for days. Now, they spent what little time they could studying together, revising each other's college application essays and quizzing each other over AP tests. They almost never actually hung out and it made Kurt's heart hurt. He would do anything to reestablish their bond, even if it meant going to this damned festival.

"Hey," he said, getting out of his Navigator and smoothing his jacket. "Ready to go?"

"Almost," Blaine replied, a glint in his eye. He stalked over to Kurt, tugging the taller teen's head down in a kiss.

His lips were soft but insistent, and Kurt responded eagerly. No matter how many times they'd kissed, Kurt still felt a thrill that traveled from his toes to his head, sending tingles throughout his body. He wove his fingers into Blaine's ungelled curls, deepening the kiss. Over the summer, he'd done some of the "research" he'd feared before, and he was ready to take things further. Not _all the way_ further, mind you, but more than just fully clothed make-out sessions that left them frustrated. Maybe they could stay home and take advantage of Blaine's empty house, Kurt mused.

He's pulled away to suggest that very thing, but Blaine beat him to the chase.

"We should stop. I would love to spend all day kissing you, but I've been excited about this for weeks. Besides, the festival ends at six, so we can come back here after…?"

Kurt sighed, nodding. "Yeah, sounds good. We wouldn't want to miss the pillaging, now, would we?"

The fact that Blaine missed the joke made Kurt very scared. There wouldn't be _actual pillaging_, would there?

What had he gotten himself into?

* * *

><p>Blaine hummed to himself as he pulled into a parking spot. Kurt had pestered him with questions the entire drive down and he was very happy to have <em>gotten<em> _there_, so Kurt could see it all for himself and _stop asking questions_.

Blaine paid for their tickets and pulled a wide-eyed Kurt toward the entrance.

"Hello there, good sir," called a man from the entryway. It was shaped like the gates of a castle; large wooden doors flanked with turrets, guardsmen pacing the bridge in between. More men and women stood in the doorway, handing out maps and taking the tickets.

"Hi," Blaine shouted back, waving up at the chainmail-wearing guard. "Say hi, Kurt," he whispered, nudging the boy with his elbow.

"Um, nice to meet you," Kurt called up, clutching Blaine's arm a little tighter as they got their maps and entered the festival.

But it wasn't a festival. It was a _village_. Kurt dropped Blaine's arm as he took it all in.

The shorter boy chuckled knowingly. His family had come here a few years ago and Blaine, much like Kurt, hadn't wanted to go at _all_. He still remembered that feeling of awe one gets when entering a renaissance festival for the first time.

"It's like going back in time, isn't it," he commented, taking in the familiar sight of crudely constructed signs and wooden shacks. The shacks, which were stuffed full of clothing and baubles, stretched on either side of them as far as the eye could see. In front of them lay one of the several stages and, behind it, a wall of trees. Even more commotion could be seen behind the trees. The sounds of a real village, from the friendly calls of shopkeepers to the clanging rings of a blacksmith, flooded the entire festival.

"It's… it's _amazing_," Kurt breathed. He tugged his bowtie thoughtfully. "I feel overdressed, though."

"Well," Blaine grinned, "that can be remedied. See that tent?" He pointed to said tent, which was closest to the on the right. "That's the costume rental tent. If you_ want_, we could go rent some costumes for the day."

"Ohmigod, really? Yes. Yes. Yes, I would like wear a costume," Kurt spoke this at breakneck speed. "Wait, is it clean?" He wrinkled his nose. "Have other people worn them?"

"Yes, of course they are. They clean them every night, silly," Blaine replied, pulling Kurt into the tent.

"Oh, good. What should I wear? You're wearing one too, right? Oh, I hope they have something blue. Ooh, boots!" Kurt admired the collection of knee-high leather boots on one wall of the tent.

Blaine laughed. He loved this side of Kurt, and he was happy that Kurt was interested enough to wear a costume. Blaine himself would've rented one either way, but getting Kurt involved made it all more fun.

A few minutes later, they left the tent in full period attire. Kurt had indeed found something blue. He wore a blue patterned jerkin over a pale blue tunic, navy muslin pants, and black slippers ("Black really doesn't go with navy. Oh, well." Kurt had sighed. Seeing Kurt actually relent to a clash, however foolish it might have been, made Blaine thrill with joy). Blaine decided to go full-out this year, even though it cost a little more. It would amuse Kurt, he knew, even if he tried to seem repulsed. He'd always wanted to wear a cape, anyway. Said cape, a black and velvety number, was paired with a red tunic and black, tight fitting pants, which were tucked into thigh-high black boots.

"A pirate?" Kurt had asked through his smile. "Really? Ha. I love it."

He _was_ rather dashing, Blaine thought. It totally went against the dapper look he had perfected while at Dalton, a fact he liked. He was far more than a blazer and some hair gel.

"Thanks, my little peasant boy," he tweaked Kurt's nose lovingly, laughing when the boy batted him away.

They sat on a nearby bench, perusing the schedule.

"We have to go the Mudde Show," Blaine insisted. "It's the best show in the place. Theatre in the Ground is a nationwide legend. People travel from all over to see them perform, and the group only performs here."

"No. It's mud, Blaine. Mud."

"You're wearing rented clothes, sweetheart. And don't forget, we have ponchos," he held up his satchel triumphantly.

"Right, because you have a murse. How could I forget," Kurt intoned with an eye roll.

"Hey! It's a satchel! And it's completely appropriate!" Blaine defended. "Where, exactly, am I supposed to hold the digital camera, Purell, facial wipes, hair spray, and sunscreen that you 'absolutely had' to bring?"

"In a murse, darling," Kurt reassured gently, pecking the disgruntled teen on the cheek. "To the Mudde show?"

"Yes. To the MUDDE SHOW!" Blaine hollered, standing up and pointing his finger in the general direction of the Muditorium.

The boys, both laughing, made their slow way onward, 'window' shopping and avoiding the heckling shopkeepers. Kurt found a woven wire brooch that matched a vest of his, and Blaine couldn't resist eating "The King's Nuts," a bag of roasted almonds. They donned the ponchos as they headed in, selecting fifth row seats. After a few minutes, the show began.

The stage consisted of a small, raised platform, two sets of stairs, and a huge mud pit absolutely full of gloopy, clay-filled mire. Three men, wearing loose, period shorts over non-period leggings, got the audience going with some crowd pleasers ("Let's see which side can be louder!" types of things) and almost-offensive jokes. They pointed out those in ponchos and trash bags, threatening them with double the mud. Kurt tensed, Blaine noticed, before realizing it was simply another joke. _He really needs to relax_, Blaine thought. _Especially for this next part_. For Blaine knew that after the jokes came the splash test. Two of the men came down, explaining what the splash test was, before scooping up huge handfuls of mud. Kurt grabbed Blaine's hand, hiding his face behind the other boy's shoulder.

_SPLASH!_

The men threw the handfuls into the middle of the pit, sending bits of mud flying into the audience. Kurt flinched when the droplets of the stuff hit them, peering down at himself disgustedly.

"How did I let you make me do this?" he questioned Blaine, who snorted.

"Stop. This is fun. Let loose, Kurt, and enjoy yourself. Mud is good for your skin anyway, especially because the clay content in this stuff is so high," he replied. Kurt responded with a sniff, flicking mud off his knee, before becoming entranced by the men on the stage.

The show was truly fantastic. The actors were funny, hamming each line up to ridiculous levels. The children, all of whom crowded the first two rows, giggled delightedly every time they were hit with mud, and the adults loved the risqué double entendres slipped in to the story.

Blaine enjoyed himself immensely—he always did at these shows—but his favorite part was watching Kurt have fun. Kurt never _had_ fun, Blaine realized, not real fun. He gossiped and teased, he even made a dirty joke once, but he never let his guard down enough to really get into any of it. He was so preoccupied with looking perfect and acting perfectly, both of which he pulled off very well, that he was letting his childhood pass him by.

Today, however, at _this_ moment, Kurt was being a kid. He laughed along with the crowd, he participated in the crowd/actor interaction, and he cheered when the good guy got the girl. He didn't even mind the mud. Blaine had never seen him so carefree. He had never loved the other boy more than he did at that moment, both covered in specks of mud, both crying from laughing so hard. He knew, right then and right there, that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with this boy. He wanted every day to be about making Kurt too happy to care about his looks. He wanted to grow old with him, and come to this festival every year just to watch Kurt flit from jewelry store to jewelry store.

Blaine didn't even notice when the show ended.

They filed out of the Muditorium with the crowd, tipping the mud-covered men generously, before putting away the ponchos. _Dante's Inferno_ was in a few hours, and Kurt begged Blaine to see it, too.

"But what about the mud?" Blaine joked, wiping an errant smear of mire off of Kurt's cheek.

"What about it?" Kurt asked innocently. He grasped Blaine's hand, linking their fingers together as they walked. "Mud is good for the skin, didn't you hear?"

* * *

><p>The rest of the day flew by as the boys made their way from one show to the next. Lunch was an interesting affair for Kurt, who refused to eat a bread bowl of stew. He had to settle for a turkey leg, which he picked apart daintily with a spork. He did, however, take one bite straight from the leg, so Blaine could get a picture.<p>

They were heckled continuously by the shopkeeps. Kurt found it harder to resist their calls than Blaine, who was used to the attention. He went in to almost every store, ogling their fares reverently. He kept pointing things out, going "Ooh, look at that!" as he tugged on Blaine's arm.

Blaine was very grateful for his family's wealth. Having Kurt for a boyfriend, while easily the best part of his life, was an expensive affair.

They did return to see _Dante's_ _Inferno_, which was even funnier than _Beowulf_. Dante, played by an Scottish-American (a.k.a. _not_ Italian), had to pass the tests of Hades in order to marry his love, a woman picked from the audience. These tests involved eating mud, battling 'demons,' and, most painfully, a bucket of ice down the pants. Blaine and Kurt crossed their legs almost simultaneously at that one, chuckling sympathetically as the actor broke character to rid his groin of all the ice.

Again, they tipped the actors as they left, but this time Kurt bought a shirt that said, "I (heart) mud" in gloopy brown print.

They continued along, drinking cider and holding hands, enjoying their time together. A boy a few years younger than them offered to take their picture, and Blaine had the camera out before Kurt could protest. The boy shot the picture and handed the camera back, blushing as his fingers brushed Blaine's.

They walked on, Kurt speaking as soon as he knew the boy was out of earshot. "Did he just _hit on you_?" Kurt questioned incredulously.

"Ouch, sweetie. Watch that ego you're trampling," Blaine joked, clutching his heart as if truly hurt.

"Please. Don't act like you're not gorgeous. I was just surprised at how open he was about it. I mean, this _is _Ohio," Kurt clarified, blushing when Blaine beamed at the compliment.

"Yeah, but this is a renaissance festival," Blaine explained. "Remember the creeps and nerds? The thing about renaissance festivals is that everyone is lame or weird, and we all respect that about each other. It's a place where labels don't matter and people can just be themselves. Get their freak on, if you will."

Kurt laughed at that, moving closer to his boyfriend comfortably. "That makes sense," he replied. "I guess I do see why you like these things so much."

_Blaine one, perfectionism zero_, Blaine thought victoriously. By the time he was done, Kurt would be a Star Trek loving, Harry Potter quoting fool.

Before too long, evening hit and the joust, one of the final performance, began. Two knights, both in full armor, competed for the queen's favor, which won them gold (Werther's candies) that they threw to their subjects (the audience). Before the knights could compete, the noblefolk argued over who would claim which champion as theirs. Queen Elizabeth, after allowing them a few minutes to give their favors, made her selection. She chose the southern champion, Blaine and Kurt's knight.

The crowd cheered loudly, calling "Huzzah" whenever their knight (depending on their seats surrounding the arena) scored a point. Unfortunately, the southern champion lost because his horse was skittish, but Blaine and Kurt didn't mind. They still got candy.

The joust ended and Blaine stood up to walk toward the front of the festival, but Kurt called him back.

"Blaine, what is that?" he asked, pointing to a large set of bells on some sort of contraption.

"I don't know, sweetie, it must be new," Blaine replied, reaching an arm around Kurt's waist. "Want to check it out?"

At Kurt's affirmative, the pair headed over to what appeared to be an instrument. This idea was confirmed when a man, dressed entirely in black, down to the balaclava and gloves, climbed up into the device and sat at a bench.

"Look," Blaine said, pointing to the bells, "they're connected to that piano thing with strings. It's like a bell organ."

He was right. The man faced the crowd, revealing that he wore a gold mask over the balaclava, and bowed once dramatically, before turning back and starting his first song.

The music was beautiful. The man had prerecorded the strings and percussion, so the bells filled in with only the melody. It sounded like music straight from _Phantom of the Opera. _The bells clanged loudly, reverberating throughout the village in a haunting song that spoke of lost love and regret.

Blaine held Kurt tightly, completely fascinated by the music.

"Do you realize how difficult that must be?" he asked once the song was over. "He has to play the notes almost a quarter of a beat before the rest of the music so the movement has time to ring the bell and travel to us. And he has to hit those keys hard because the ball things are so heavy."

"Ball things?" Kurt replied amusedly, looking over to the shorter boy. "Your eloquence never ceases to impress me, dear. But yeah," he said, turning back to the mysterious musician, "it must be difficult."

"It makes the whole guitar and piano playing seem totally unimpressive," Blaine remarked. "I need to learn how to play this."

"Hush," Kurt said, "you're ruining the show."

So they listened in silence, absorbing the beauty of the man's playing. Even though he never spoke a word nor sang a lyric, the man emoted so much through his music. It transcended fun, it transcended entertainment, and flew straight to the soul of art. For that was the power of music: it bypassed all cognition and spoke to the essence of humanity. It shared and regaled and mourned and made people, no matter who they were or what their story was, feel the passion of the songwriter.

This was why Blaine loved music. It was why he chose to make his life about music. He wanted to spend his years bonding with thousands of people through the miraculous conduit of song; he wanted to discover, with masses of others, what it meant to be human and passionate. He wanted to be like this man, performing not for the crowd, but for himself, for the craft.

The concert ended in a huge round of applause. The man stood and bowed again, before picking up a microphone and talking about buying CDs.

He had to make a living, after all.

The boys wandered off, too broke to spend any more money on things other than dinner. After a few, final minutes of perusing shops, they headed back to the rental tent and changed back into their street clothes.

"I feel so boxed in now," Kurt whined, staring at his blazer in the mirror.

_Oh, how the songbird has changed its tune_, Blaine noted amusedly. "Well, you could always take the blazer off once we get into the car. I'm sure the vest, shirt, and bowtie are enough for Bob Evans," Blaine suggested.

"But it's not… I can't just give up on fashion, Blaine. It's not… Well, maybe just tonight? That would be alright, wouldn't it?" Kurt asked, more to himself than anyone else. "Okay. No blazer tonight. But," he continued, holding a finger up sternly, "tomorrow I go back to fashion forward Kurt. And you won't be able to stop me."

"Fine," Blaine shrugged, holding up his hands in submission, "I just want you to be comfortable."

With that, they left, bidding everyone farewell. They drove off, Blaine's iPod playing in the background.

"Katy Perry seems so mundane compared to what we just experienced," Kurt commented off-handedly. "It really makes you wonder what happened to us all."

"Wow, that's deep," Blaine said, continuing when he saw Kurt's glare. "No, I mean it! Not many teenagers think about industry that way. It's part of the reason I like the festival so much: it puts everything into perspective. Why do we need so much? What's so important about mass production? Humans have lived for thousands of years, no matter what your faith believes, and we have done just fine with making our own products for almost all of it. Everything we make now is auto-tuned, sanded smooth, and wrapped in bubble wrap. What's it all for?"

The car fell silent, both boys consumed with thoughts about the world and the future. That is, until a Lonely Island song came on, breaking the tension and relaxing them.

"You have 'Motherlover'?" Kurt laughed. "I thought only Puck liked that song."

"Oh God," Blaine snorted, thinking about the mohawked teen. "I never thought about that. Puck _would_ have this song, wouldn't he? It's like it was written for him."

They joked for the rest of the ride, holding hands loosely over the console. When they finally reached Blaine's house, the sun had set and the sky was a myriad of pinks and oranges.

"Wow, the sky is so beautiful," Blaine voiced his thoughts out loud. "That's one thing I really love about Ohio: every single sunset is a work of art here."

"The sky is the same everywhere, Blaine," Kurt stated drily. "Let's go inside."

"No, Kurt, seriously. It isn't. Look at the sky right now. Really _look at it_. Then tell me a big city, with all of its pollution and artificial light, can live up to this kind of beauty," Blaine argued. His boyfriend sighed, following his boyfriend's request reluctantly.

They stood like that, observing the vestiges of sunlight, for what felt like hours and seconds simultaneously. Strangely, the transience of day made everything feel timeless. When the last, blood red rays disappeared, Kurt turned to Blaine.

"You were right, you know," he said candidly. He leaned into the other boy, wrapping both arms around his waist. "It really was breathtaking. I don't know. I guess I get so caught up in the destination that I forget to enjoy the ride sometimes. Thanks."

"Hey, babe, that's why I'm here," Blaine teased, smiling easily.

"No, really, Blaine. Thank you," Kurt pressed on. "Thank you for everything. Thank you for today, for believing in me, for handling my diva, for being amazing—"

"Kurt," Blaine interrupted, "I'm not joking around. I want to help keep you grounded and I love making you soar. _I love you_, Kurt, even when you make fun of my cardigans."

Kurt laughed wetly, trying and failing to stop his tears from falling. "God, look at me," he mumbled, "we just had an amazing day and here I am, crying like a baby."

Blaine tugged him into a hug, reaching to tuck his chin over the taller boy's shoulder. "It's fine, baby, happy tears are an exception to the 'crying on a good day' rule."

Kurt laughed again, sniffling loudly. "I love you too, Blaine. I act like a spoiled brat sometimes and I seriously do think you need to burn half of those cardigans, but I love you every second of every day."

Blaine pulled back slightly, kissing Kurt gently. The other boy shifted, threading one hand in Blaine's curls and he kissed back. When Blaine felt a tongue begging entrance, he opened his mouth greedily and licked his way into Kurt's mouth. One of them, hard to tell which, shifted and their bodies moved closer. Blaine gasped when they collided, feeling Kurt's hardness pressing into his own.

"Wait, wait," he panted, "We should—we should stop before we get in over our heads."

"But that's just what I want to do," Kurt whispered naughtily into Blaine's ear. "Get in _over my head_, if you catch my drift."

Blaine groaned, his head falling back as he processed the implication behind Kurt's words. "Let's go inside."

His parents were out on date night, so the teenagers had the house to themselves for the moment. Blaine knew his parents would be home in a few hours, but that gave them _oh dear Lord_ over two hundred minutes to do whatever they wanted. He just hoped he could hold on for more than ten minutes of it.

It wasn't that he had _issues_ with that sort of that thing, mind, but Kurt could be such a tease at times without even knowing it, and Blaine had been living in subtle frustration for weeks now. He was pretty sure his shower had forgotten how to run hot at this point.

And Kurt was here, in his house, telling him that they were about to… _oh no, think about something else_, Blaine pleaded with himself. _Girls. Rachel. Shit, not working… Wes and the gavel._

That did it.

They finally reached Blaine's room, much to the shorter boy's relief, and sat on the bed. Kurt leaned in to kiss him again, but Blaine put a hand on Kurt's chest in protest.

"As much as I would love to do anything and everything you have in mind," he began, "we need to talk."

"Okay," Kurt agreed confusedly. "About what, exactly?"

"Well, I think we both know I'm not the most intuitive person in the world. This morning, when we kissed, I got an 'I want more' vibe, and we're sitting on my bed, both," Blaine blushed a brilliant red, "hard," Kurt's complexion matched his own at that, "and I need to know what you want from this. I didn't think you were interested in the physical stuff. Not complaining, though. Not at all," he added hurriedly. "Your pace is my pace and, honestly, I'm not ready to go all the way yet. I would love to explore myself with you, and help you explore yourself, but there are limits to what I'm comfortable with."

Kurt fidgeted, knotting his hands in his lap. "This is arguably as embarrassing as when Dad gave me the talk." Blaine grinned, pulling a small smile from the other boy. "But you're right," he continued. "We need to have this talk, and now is as good a time as any." He inhaled deeply, letting it out in a gust of breath that blew his bangs all over his forehead.

"Yes, I want more. No, I don't want to have, um, intercourse with you quite yet. I'm not ready and I fully expect a romantic dinner involving rose petals and French food before I _am_ ready," Kurt demanded, fixing Blaine with a look just stern enough to make him realize that he was only half-joking. "But I'm so sick of stopping when going gets good. I'm snapping at everybody, I don't even bother wearing my tighter jeans anymore, and that pirate outfit today was absolutely _sinfully_ good-looking on you. I'm ready for the next step, Blaine, and the step after that. Okay?"

The curly-haired teen didn't respond; instead, he pulled Kurt's head down and smashed their lips together, pulling him down until Kurt was lying on top of Blaine, legs on either side of Blaine's hips. This time, when their tongues met, they pushed even closer, relishing in every possible inch of contact.

It wasn't enough. Kurt pulled away enough to rasp, "Shirts. Off. Now."

Blaine sat up immediately, unbuttoning Kurt's shirt clumsily. When all of the ridiculously tiny buttons were undone, he shoved the shirt off of Kurt's slim shoulders and down his arms. He tackled his wifebeater next, flinging it away in a desperate movement. At last, Kurt's torso was exposed to him. It really rivaled the sunset, both in pinkness (Kurt hadn't stopped blushing since his little speech) and radiance.

Blaine kissed his way down Kurt's neck, across his collarbone, and down to a pale nipple. He took the bud into his mouth, licking it slowly, delighting in the taller boy's groan.

"You, good sir," the taller boy ground out, "have far too many clothes on." He reached for Blaine's cardigan, forgoing the buttons and just pulling it up, over his head. He did the same to Blaine's t-shirt, stopping only when there was nothing left to pull off.

Kurt sat back, staring at his boyfriend in awe. He'd seen other boys' chests before, of course he had, but none of them looked like this. All of the chests he'd ever seen (including his own, sadly) were hairless, either from lack of growth (Kurt's chest) or from continuous grooming (everyone else's). Blaine's chest, however, reeked of glorious, hairy masculinity. The hair, which sometimes peeked out the neck of Blaine's shirts, spread out, covering his pecs, and tapered down, ending in a line that trailed into Blaine's _obviously restricting_ jeans. Kurt swallowed, his throat clicking uncomfortably. His boyfriend was mortifyingly gorgeous. Why hadn't he gone to the gym more, again?

A pair of lips stopped Kurt's train of thought. "You're so gorgeous," Blaine whispered into his mouth. His hands raced hungrily over Kurt's back, nails digging into Kurt's shoulder blades as he ground up into Kurt.

_Oh_. _Never mind then_, Kurt thought, pushing Blaine back down, almost into the mattress. He kissed him forcefully, both hands rubbing through Blaine's _sexysoftamazing_ chest hair, brushing over his nipples accidentally.

Blaine clutched Kurt even tighter at the touch, a high-pitched, sexy as _fuck_ moan escaping his throat. Kurt grazed them again, eliciting another moan and a desperate thrust of the hips from his boyfriend. _His _boyfriend.

The thought sent a jolt of pleasure through his body, and he pushed his hips down into Blaine's, attempting to find the rhythm that maximized friction. Blaine's hands left their position on Kurt's back, moving down and grabbing Kurt's ass. They rocked frantically, months of frustration making them overeager. Blaine's moans started again, answered readily by Kurt's breathy whines.

After what seemed like an eternity, Kurt's hips stuttered and he came, kissing Blaine hungrily and sighing, "Blaaiiiine" into the other boy's ear.

Blaine didn't know if it was the perfect feeling of Kurt spasming onto his cock or the whisper of his name that did it, but he was coming harder than he had ever come in his life. His vision actually blacked for a moment, a sound like water rushing in his ears.

Kurt rolled to the side, groaning in distaste. "Can I borrow a pair of boxers?" he whined pathetically.

Blaine laughed, the sound morphing into a mewl of disgust when he felt what Kurt meant. "Yeah," he answered, rolling out of bed and crossing to his wardrobe. He pulled out two pairs of boxers, breath catching when he turned back around. Kurt looked completely debauched, chest still pink and blotchy, hair in utter disarray.

He had never looked more beautiful.

Blaine handed him a pair of boxers. "You can use my bathroom. It's right next door. I'll use my parents," he told the boy, rushing out before he said something stupid like, "But, if it's okay, let's just both use mine and I can just lick you clean because I want you in my system for as long as I can have you and you probably taste like butterflies and sunshine anyway and I've never tasted sunshine before."

Because that would be terrible, and it was seriously on the tip of his tongue.

When he came back, Kurt was perfect again, even though Blaine thought he looked the most perfect when he was as uncontrolled as possible.

"So," he cleared his throat, "do you feel different?" He immediately cursed himself for asking such a stupid question.

"Actually yeah," came Kurt's reply, surprising Blaine. "I feel… more relaxed. I mean, apparently that's just the endorphins rushing around in my brain. That's what the pamphlets say, anyway. This is more than that, though. Maybe I'm just being stupid," he trailed off.

"No, I get it," Blaine reassured Kurt, coming to sit on the bed. "We've crossed a boundary and we're more comfortable with each other because of it. Intimacy defined, right?"

"Yeah," Kurt replied, smiling up at Blaine appreciatively. "You're right. When aren't you?"

"Oh, believe me, for every good idea that comes out of my mouth, a hundred bad ideas race through my head. Don't give me too much credit," Blaine dissuaded, dodging Kurt's half-hearted punch.

"Believe me, I know," Kurt jibed back, giggling when Blaine stuck his tongue out. "As much as I would like to see that tongue of yours, I never told Dad I would be spending the night, so I have to head home."

"Yeah, okay," Blaine sighed. "Today was amazing. All of it. Even when that old guy hit on you." Kurt grimaced.

"Why bring that up," he whined. "Kiss me goodbye and make me forget about him."

Blaine did just that.

After Kurt left, Blaine got ready for bed, happy that their mess had stayed confined to their jeans. He was much too tired to change the sheets right now.

He collapsed onto his bed, falling asleep almost instantly. He awoke a couple hours later to his phone buzzing on the nightstand.

"_Just got home. Today was the best, Blaine. Same time, same place, next year? ;) Love you."_ Blaine smiled sleepily, crawling under the covers before typing out his response.

"_Definitely. I love you too, my perfect Kurt. Get some sleep. We'll need energy for a study session tomorrow... my place? My parents will be working all day, so we'll be alone."_

A few minutes later: "_Yes. I'm sleeping now. Energy. Yes. Goodnight_."

And, after chuckling for what felt like the millionth time that day, Blaine hugged his pillow, pretending it was his amazing boyfriend, not even noticing when sleep overtook him once more.

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><p><strong>AN: And that's it! ****Please review! Reviews are the flannel to my hipster.**


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